


Flirting with Death

by Jubalii



Category: Hellsing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Daemons, Eventual Sex, F/M, Fights, Mystery, Post 30-year gap, Post-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-01
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-07-28 13:44:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7642906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jubalii/pseuds/Jubalii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seras Victoria has it easy, living in the lap of luxury at Hellsing manor, doing her dream job of police work for the foreseeable future, if not eternity. Thankfully, she's got her daemon to muck things up even more for her, and circumstances are changing more than she realizes. At least life is never boring.....</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flirting with Death

            The moment Seras’s eyes opened, she knew it was going to be a different kind of night. Nothing dull, nothing mundane and run of the mill. She was going to do something; there was an itch in her blood that made her sit up and stretch in a long, sinuous movement, boiling in the back of her mind and putting ideas in her head. She licked her lips, running a hand through her hair as she stood and breathed in deeply, testing the air.

            _Good evening, isn’t it?_ Her shadow—no, it couldn’t even be classified as a shadow, when it was so much more—uncurled from the rug and slid up the wall in a single snakelike gesture. It caught the comparison and then it _was_ a snake, or a snake’s form, flicking its tongue teasingly before taking on its host’s shape again. _Can you feel it?_

            “Yeah…” Seras looked around, hands resting on her hips as she shifted from side to side impatiently. Even standing still was torture tonight, her limbs screaming for movement. “What the hell is this? I feel like I drank an entire carton of energy shots or something.”

            _It’s the night._ The shade writhed as impatiently as the woman, expanding into the cracks of the stone wall and trickling down to the floor where it slithered along and climbed up into the mirror. Once it reached the reflective surface, it took on a three-dimensional flesh and blood reflection, staring back with a suggestive look in its crimson gaze. _“I love the silent hour of night, For blissful dreams may then arise.” But for us, the hour of rest and dreaming is over, it seems._ It tilted its head, leaning against the side of the mirror as though the frame were a wall instead. _What’s the matter, little vampiress? Feeling… frisky?_

            “Frisky?” Seras repeated blankly, expression puzzled. “No, not really. I just have this weird urge to go out tonight.” The dæmon—for that’s what it called itself, no matter how far from demonic it really was—sneered and waved its hand. 

            _Call it what you want. Say you have an active nature, for all I care._ It laughed callously. _What will you do when you ‘go out’? You’ll spend all night frolicking in a city that doesn’t sleep once the sun goes down, right? What about the handsome young men waiting in the shadows for a pretty doe like you, hmm?_ Seras scoffed and threw open the bathroom door, hiding the mirror from view as she stepped onto the chilly tile in her bare feet and began preparing for a shower.

            That dæmon really annoyed her sometimes, to be honest. But she couldn’t get rid of it or make it shut up for long; it was as much a part of her as her hair or her guts. While she had been surprised and frightened when the creature first surfaced in the mirror of her medicine cabinet, she had grown fond of it as the years past.

            It was rather confusing as to _what_ exactly it was, but the simplest explanation was that it was a paradox. It was a part of her soul, and yet not her soul. It was a supernatural creature, and yet it was unable to survive without a host. It was in all vampires, but how it came to be there was a mystery that neither one could really understand. It just _was_ , the same way the sun just was harmful and the moon just was beautiful. Dæmons were a part of vampires.

            The dæmon had stated that it was both a physical manifestation of her vampiric powers as well as of her soul. Everyone—human, vampire, animal—had a distinct personality that was made up of both dominant and submissive traits. Seras was kind, gentle, silly, outgoing, and charitable; those were her dominant traits. Vanity, rage, disgust, sarcasm, and the more bloodthirsty tendencies; these were just some of her recessive traits that the dæmon absorbed and personified.

 Of course, the dæmon wasn’t hateful or evil, but instead was just a colder, mature-er, more cynical version of the eternal nineteen-year-old whose head it resided in. It was almost like a small part of Alucard still resided in her after she gained her freedom by drinking his blood, except it was female. But just because it was those things didn’t mean that Seras never felt them, just like the dæmon could still laugh and be silly, or feel dominant feelings like pity and sympathy.

            Every vampire had a dæmon, but there were strict, almost instinctive codes of conduct that ruled how they were presented. Vampires didn’t speak to each other of dæmons, other than the unavoidable topics. They certainly didn’t speak _to_ each other’s dæmons, either. Such breaches of etiquette were completely unacceptable. Of course the dæmons spoke to each other and relayed messages back and forth from host to host, but even they had certain restrictions. They could also relate certain aspects of others’ dæmons to their hosts, within reason. And around humans, a dæmon _always_ kept a human shape, mimicking its host to keep the secret of its existence safe.

            It was because dæmons were part of the vampire’s soul, and therefore a clear clue to the true face of the person. The animal shape of a dæmon was most telling when it came to reading nonverbal clues; a confident vampire would have a large dæmon animal: bear, lion, wolf. Extroverts had squawking parrots while introverts favored housecats. A defensive vampire’s dæmon was a snake, a boar, a sabretooth tiger: something with venom or sharp fangs to fight with. Someone who had something to hide could have their dæmon take the form of a beetle, a buzzing horsefly, a gnat, too small to be noticed and brought to light. A snooper could have a giraffe that stretched up the walls; a shy vampire’s field mouse could hide beneath someone’s boot.

            Even the way they interacted was a clue, as if nonverbal signals had been given an alternate outlet. Stranger’s dæmons sniffed and pawed curiously, while old friends met in a mutual embrace (or animalistic equivalent). A master’s dæmon might hiss or bat a paw at a defiant fledgling’s shadow—those who weren’t full Nosferatu didn’t know their dæmon yet. Lover’s dæmons curled around and around until it was hard to tell whose dæmon was whose anymore.

            In any case, the dæmon was here and it wasn’t going anywhere, even if it was a pain in the bum at times. Even right now, as she finished her shower and stepped out, it was writing something on the steamed mirror in cursive, probably leaving streaks across it just for spite. D-E-N-I-

          “I’m not in denial about anything,” Seras stated firmly. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about, really.”

            _I know you don’t,_ it laughed. _Integra wants you. French dork incoming._ It vanished in a puff of dispersed shadow. _Innocent little lamb, walking so meekly to the slaughterhouse. Who’s to say the old shepherd will let you?_ it snorted derisively. _When there’s a job to do, anyway._

            “Say, _ma cher_ , you’re looking pretty with all that London fog around you.” Seras turned on her heel, absently grabbing the top of her robe and holding it closed while the other smoothed down the bottom. She was more than used to the ghostly Captain’s sudden ‘winds’ that made the maids skirts fly up and often tangled Sir Integra’s hair when she wasn’t looking. Pip had turned into a real poltergeist as the years marched on.

            “Oh, ha-ha,” she replied, rolling her eyes as his lame joke. “It’s not like I haven’t heard _that_ one every time a bit of steam is left in the bathroom.” She shook her head, wet locks flying limply through the humid air. The Captain materialized from the ground and rolled his shoulders in an easy shrug, grinning widely around his never-ending cigarette.

            “What can I say? I try; that counts for something.” His mood sobered on a dime. “The boss has a big one tonight; you and Alucard are going in together.” Seras barely stopped herself from gasping—her and Alucard _both_? That hadn’t happened since the early days, when he was training her how to fight like a proper vampire. Most FREAKs and low-tier menaces weren’t strong enough to warrant both of them. Usually Integra just alternated them out as she saw fit.

          “ _Oui_. Guess it’s a big guy. Got three houses and—well, I’ll let her tell you the rest. Meet you upstairs, then.” With that, he vanished back to the elderly woman’s study, where he spent most of his days when not patrolling the halls looking for mischief. She waited to make sure he was really gone before she threw off the robe and began to get dressed. She felt a surge of power and knew that Alucard had gone upstairs to meet with his master as well.

            _Well, this’ll be a blast_ , the dæmon said cheerfully, almost hopefully. Seras didn’t look at the mirror as she pulled on her stockings, knowing the savage look in the dæmon’s eyes too well. She didn’t like that part of her personality, even though the dæmon enjoyed reminding her of it. She hated to think that she took particular delight in the spilling of blood, the arcing of the thick, delicious liquid as it spurted across a room, the morbid colors it made as it stained various substances or painted the walls…. She shivered and began to button her blouse with a sense of purpose, unwilling to dwell on the thoughts for long.  

            “I just want to know who it is that’s making her put both me and Alucard out there.” She brushed her hair and used her powers to dry it quickly, fluffing it out and letting it lay where it fell. She never could tame the wild strands as a human, so why try now? “I hope it’s no one important.”

            _Important? No, I doubt it,_ the dæmon answered pensively. _Alucard hasn’t been making any of his usual moves, has he? Or, his dæmon hasn’t at least. So it’s probably just some chump that got the long end of the stick, but doesn’t know how to use his powers. Shame, really. So many abandoned fledglings out there with such prowess, if only their masters had stuck around to teach them some manners._ Seras frowned again.

            “Strange.”

            _Curiouser and curiouser,_ the dæmon agreed with a macabre delight. _Let’s hurry and find out what all the fuss is._ It hopped from the mirror, leaping across the floor and crouching at the door as a cheetah. _Come along, why don’t you?_ it huffed. _You look fine._ Seras took an extra moment to adjust her gloves, just to hear the dæmon snarl.

* * *

            She often wondered what Alucard’s dæmon was like. Knowing her own dæmon, she could guess easily enough. It would be serene, exultant, empathetic, and it probably laughed on occasion. Sullenness wouldn’t bother it, impatience wouldn’t plague it, and it might even be a pacifist—wouldn’t that be a laugh! Nevertheless, whatever it was most likely annoyed Alucard just as much as her dæmon annoyed her.

            She spared a quick glance at it while standing at attention in Sir Integra’s office, waiting for the old woman to speak. It was nothing more than a still shadow on the wall, but when she looked close enough she saw one of its fingers twitch where Alucard’s didn’t: proof that it was something more. A human would never have been able to watch as long, or as closely, to see such a small detail. Even the more observant ones claimed ‘trick of the light’ or ‘overwork’ as the excuse for seeing something moving in the shadows where nothing should be.

            _Nosy,_ her dæmon teased, though it didn’t move an inch from its own spot on the wall. _Leave his dæmon alone. You want more than one?_

            _I’m just curious,_ she thought back defensively. _I’d like to—I know it’s wrong, but I’d almost like to speak with it. Is that bad of me?_

            _Social convention would state that yes, that’s very bad and you’re a bloody sinner by vampire standards._ The shadow didn’t move, but somehow it felt in her mind like the dæmon shifted uncomfortably. Perhaps it was just the aura its words gave off. _But there may be another reason, too. Don’t worry about it right now, though. We’ll have to wait and see._

            _Wait and see? What the hell are you talking about?_ But the dæmon didn’t reply and Sir Integra started talking, so she turned her mind back to the here-and-now.

            “—every troop sent out by the Police Agency has been killed without much of a fight. Even in other scenarios, these men,” she paused, glancing at Seras, “ _and_ women have fought tooth and nail against the vampires, though they might not have believed their eyes. For five troops to give up immediately? I don’t believe it one instant.”

            “So you’ll send in the big guns before the peashooters this time,” Pip remarked from his designated place floating just over her chair, elbows resting on the back. Somehow he’d wormed his way into the old woman’s heart and she tolerated him like one tolerates a particularly wild friend, scolding him but never actually doing anything about his shenanigans.

            “I won’t make the same mistake as those _idiots_ that work in the spotlight,” Integra growled, snapping her cigar and banging her fist on the desk. “I refuse to let my men be slaughtered by something that you two could do away with quickly. I expect this to be nipped in the bud tonight, do you understand?” She eyed them both, mouth pursed in a thin line. “You know my orders already; do I really need to say them?”

            “For my benefit, my master,” Alucard purred, ever the Devil’s Advocate and eternal tormentor. Integra sighed, but Seras felt the impetuosity burn through her veins like sunlight and beat her boss to the punch.

            “Search and Destroy, same as always!” she snapped. “Now let’s _go_ already so we can get this over with!” She knew she sounded angry, but she couldn’t help herself. There was the dæmon’s keenness in her head, as well as her own bubbling frustration to be out of the house. She nearly ran through the door, the dæmon having to think on its feet to try and keep up.

            The foyer was deserted and the shadow sped through the front door faster than a blink. She followed, Pip showing up at the last moment and waving her on with a flourish.

            “Give ‘em hell,” he said with a wink. “And call me if you get in over your head.”

            “I always do, don’t I?” she responded without her usual affection, and more for the ritual of it. Concern flashed through his gaze and he looked at her strangely.

            “Are you alright? You’re a little… _jumpy_.” She turned back to look at him, standing forlornly in the threshold and watching her with a frown.

            “I’m fine. It’s just this night. I have to—I have to go,” she stressed, clenching and unclenching her fists. “Maybe my powers are too built up inside me; I haven’t had many missions lately. I need to let it all out.” He nodded at her explanation, but the frown remained.

            “Just call if you need a hand,” he repeated, and then waved her on. “Be careful!” he called after her, and she raised a hand in answer before jumping into the air, wings bursting from the shadow around her and letting her soar above the clouds and smog. She filled her lungs with precious fresh air, breathing in the night and letting it pacify the beast pacing restlessly within her. What was _wrong_ with her? Why did she feel the need to act this way?

            _Don’t worry so much about it,_ the dæmon answered, running far beneath her as a shadow before arcing through the atmosphere to ride on her wings, jumping to the clouds from time to time in a hurried sprint. It’s exercise helped to calm her and she breathed out a sigh, spreading her arms and letting the wings dissipate so that she could freefall, somersaulting once as the dæmon ran to check that no humans were in the alley she’d chosen for her landing.

            _Clear?_ She twisted her body, preparing to land on her feet in the alley. It wouldn’t do for anyone—even homeless druggies or drunken fools—to see her.

            _Yes. Wait, n—_ But it was too late, she was too close to the ground. She grit her teeth and prepared for the chorus of screams sure to come from being seen as she was, but her exasperation turned to shock when she was _caught_ , arms coming around her waist as the body transferred the brunt of her descent into the legs, backing up a step to center them both. Her nose was buried in cloth, the scent of something warm and old filling her nose along with regulation soap and a heavier odor of stale dirt and iron. The restless beast within her purred and she wanted to rub her face against it, but repelled the urge.

            “It’s been a long time since you and I ‘worked the scene’ together, Police Girl. It’s nice to know that you can make an entrance as well as your old master.”  She pulled away to glare up at him, pushing him and making him drop her.

            “Why’d you do that? You scared me for a minute; my— _I_ thought you were a human.” A cold, mocking grin was the only answer to her chastisement.

            “What would you have done if I was a human?” he asked curiously, before his eyes moved from her to the building behind her. “This is the place.” Seras turned and craned her neck to read the faded sign tacked above the topmost layer of windows.

            “A stage shop?” She wrinkled her brow in confusion, straining to read the bottom words. Her dæmon wound its way up a light pole, arcing out in a swirl of black across the gap to read the fine print. She saw Alucard’s dæmon land on the pole’s foot railing as a raven, cocking its head to read as well.

            _Props, costumes, fine backdrops for low prices. Wholesale retailer._ The dæmon came back down and sat on the wall’s lower bricks as a hound, ears pricked for the slightest noise from within. _Looks like they went out of business; the prices were **too** low. _ The raven fluttered and tapped at the window before hopping along the length of the sill. Her dæmon quieted and Seras heard the buzzing chatter in the back of her mind as they talked—enough to be audible, but still not coherent words to her mind. She couldn’t even tell when one stopped talking and the other started. Still, they broke apart after a moment and her dæmon’s attention was hers once again. _We should go in from separate sides. Alucard will take the roof, and we’ll go along the bottom. Let’s keep quiet._

            She nodded at Alucard, pointing to the door before putting a finger to her lips. He smirked, his ‘pre-battle’ expression full on his face as he turned into mist and left her alone in the alley.

            “Ugh, this is creepy,” she whispered as she peered through the window. It looked like the bottom floor was filled with stage props. She tried the door, found it locked, and phased through it easily. Once inside, she peered around effortlessly in the dark space—the light from the window was more than enough to let her see the room as though it were flooded in light from the broken florescent bulbs above. There were random objects everywhere; Julius Caesar’s bust sat on top of a Victorian-era patio set, which stood next to a funhouse mirror that was leaned against a dressmaker’s dummy. There were masks and paintings, hoops and bags of sand on the walls, weird things hanging from the ceilings, and all sorts of rugs spread out on the floor in a display.

            _This is where horror movies take place,_ the dæmon agreed with a sliver of fear. _Keep your wits about you on this one, and I’ll try to find out where our friend is hiding. Remember,_ it said as it crept through the shadows with the surefootedness of a snowshoe hare. _They haven’t found those troopers’ bodies yet. There are probably Ghouls lurking all over the place._

            _I’d smell them, wouldn’t I?_ she replied in turn, looking about her with senses on high alert. She heard something on a floor above her hit the ground and froze, but her dæmon chuckled.

            _Alucard knocked over a planter. I heard his dæmon curse from here._ It continued to giggle while it worked, outwardly silent as the shade it personified. Seras forced it to the back of her mind as she continued to look around, stopping to peer at herself in a mirror or study some prop with interest.

 _Are we in the right building?_ There was no sign of Ghouls or even that a vampire resided here. Just then, her eyes caught upon a stage coffin and narrowed upon it suspiciously. Something wasn’t right….

Her foot hit a trip wire that had been disguised in the dust and the door of the coffin flew open, nearly throwing the box on top of her in the process, and revealed a tiny child.  For one heart stopping moment she feared it had become a vampire – who could be so _twisted_?! – when the mannequin’s head fell off and she released a huff in disgust. Their prey had a terrible sense of humor it seemed, and the noise she had made just now was not twice, but thrice as loud as Alucard knocking over a planter. There was no way the vampire crouching here was unaware of them now.

 _Why didn’t you warn me about that?!_ she snapped irritably at the dæmon, who had flown to the rafters in escape after hearing the loud noise. It was back in humanoid form, flipping off of the rafter’s shadow like a gymnast on a beam and landing on its feet.

 _You’re the one closer to the ground_ , it pointed out in a sharp retort. _Why didn’t you see it **yourself**? _ Seras scowled, but before she could get into a fight there was the sound of a throat clearing to her left. She turned and, as if on cue, a set of stage lights flickered to dusty life and illuminated a wooden platform not two arm’s lengths from her nose. She backed up, her neck craning to see what—or, rather, _who_ —was standing atop the platform.

The first things she saw, level with her eyes, were the boots, black leather patent with a six-inch heel (at the very least). Her eyes traveled upwards, confused as she tried to decide what she was looking at. The black leather came back in a bustier, and instead of padded shoulders there was a large majority of peacock feathers jutting out from the collarbone on either side, the brilliant ends drooping a full foot longer than the arms. Smaller black feathers made up the leggings, puffing out like a turkey’s breast where they’d been stuffed into the tops of the boots.

Her eyes finally made it all the way to the face, framed by turquoise hair styled in a fancy bubble-cut style, emerald streaked bangs lying curled over the arched, drawn on brows. The face was made even paler with cake makeup, exaggerated false lashes that matched the peacock feathers to a tee, and a deep plum lipstick drawn over the thin, almost nonexistent mouth. The eyes slowly opened, lashes brushing against the forehead as one arm came up and one thigh shifted outwards in a pose that was clearly for the purpose of being able to see every facet of the outfit at once. There were even glittering, diamond studded, dark green gloves that went almost up to the shoulders.

 _Wow, he’s dressed to impress_ , her dæmon remarked casually, its mind focused on the all-too-obvious bulge in the feathered tights. _I wonder if he doesn’t realize the true meaning of the phrase ‘strutting like a peacock’, or if it’s supposed to be implied?_

 _Shut up!_ Seras squeaked, feeling her face heat up. What the hell was this guy about? This was the vampire that had caused so much trouble and killed entire troops of police?! What the hell! She saw the vampire’s dæmon flutter from the rafters; had it been watching them the entire time? No, it couldn’t have been, her dæmon would have known. In answer, her dæmon indignantly huffed at the very thought that it was sorely lacking in detection skills. The vampire’s dæmon took on the form of—naturally—a peacock, feathers fully exposed as its wings raised and it squawked in silent challenge. Its host, however, was more composed and continued to stare down at her, keeping his convoluted posture effortlessly.

            “I can see you’re clearly… _affected_ …by my attire,” he drawled in an over-the-top falsetto. “You’ve come to see me perform, haven’t you, my lovely?” He sniffed, lashes fluttering.

            “A pretentious old fop like you?” she replied with a scoff, tossing her head. _Go get Alucard,_ she ordered her dæmon. “As if. I’ve only come to find out what you’ve done with all those policemen’s bodies.” Her dæmon became a she-wolf and bounded for the stairs, but the peacock beat her there and stood with wings splayed. It growled ferociously, but the pompous bird didn’t even flinch. _He’s confident; he might be stronger than I thought._

            “Oh, but that is the pinnacle of my little performance.” His pose changed, one leg rising to tremble meticulously in the air as his back bowed. “The _piéce de résistance,_ if you will. I’ll show it to you, but only if you offer me something in return.” From his new vantage point he was gazing at her upside down, but Seras still had no trouble seeing _exactly_ where those mahogany eyes slid to.  

            “Not on your life, weirdo.” A strange, predatory light gleamed in the depths of his gaze.

            “That’s fine, darling. After all, I’m not alive anymore!” As he finished his sentence, his dæmon sprang for hers and the wolf barely avoided the beak of the shadowy bird. Rather than keep up this defensive stance, her dæmon flipped sideways and snapped at the bird’s neck. It was too fast, bending its head and hiding the long, graceful appendage from view.

            _This one’s speedy,_ her dæmon grunted. _That could be an issue. We’re usually the quicker ones._

            _Tell me something I don’t know,_ Seras replied snarkily, backing up from the stage and glancing quickly towards the ceiling. _Does Alucard not know the target’s down here, or does he just not care?_

 _His dæmon’s not stupid, so… I’d go more for the latter,_ her dæmon sighed. It ran up the shadow of a support beam and slid into the general murkiness of the room, her shape dissolving amongst the darkness. The peacock stopped halfway up the beam, looking around. _He’s probably decided you can handle it on your own, **Police Girl**_ **,** it said in a blatant mockery of the ancient vampire’s voice.  _If you can make it darker near the door_ , _I can go up the stairs before it catches me. Just look at it._ Seras did look; it was still looking around, beak twisting from side to side as the tail feathers fluffed back up. _It’s not able to see me in the shadow. This vampire is dependent on his dæmon’s speed; we can use that to our advantage._  

            _Right._ She glanced towards the window, where the light was faintly streaming across the room near the door. _Couldn’t put our shadows there, you don’t think?_

            _Not without alerting him to the plan._ Seras felt the hair on the back of her neck rise and jumped straight up, the vampire’s body missing her spine by a mere inch. Her boots hit the ceiling in unison, jarring the entire upper floor.

            “ ** _Alucard_** _!”_ she shouted angrily, stomping her left foot once more for good measure before flipping into a descent, all in the span of thirty seconds. There was a sound above her that was almost too faint to hear, and she was too focused on not dying to pay it much attention. She hoped he wasn’t laughing at her, or she’d punch him right in his smug mouth the next time she saw him. A hand nearly wrapped around her neck but she managed to fling a prop at his arm, feathers fluttering loose from the outlandish costume; in a flurry of movement her boots hit the wall above the window, a dropcloth sliding down to obscure part of the dusty panes as she grabbed for the fake sword that had been hanging next to her. It would surely break after one hit, but it should buy her a bit of time. 

            “ _Hyaaaaaahh_!”   She slung the sword around, her whole bodyweight behind it as she pivoted on her heel. She saw the vampire’s mouth turn into an ‘O’ of surprise and then the fake sword crashed against his—her—its? neck. The sword managed to hang on by a thread, but the ricochet of energy up her arms had her stumbling as she tried to remain on her feet. The vampire’s neck was bent at an odd angle, looking more like a half-strangled chicken than a peacock. Still, it brushed one brightly-colored lock of hair back into place and fluttered the long eyelashes at her mockingly.

            “Surely… that’s not all…” the vampire drawled with an overly dramatic, bored sigh. “By my feathers, a newborn fledgling could hit harder than _that_ , darling. Or maybe….” He turned, quick as a flash, and had her by the arms. Twisting them both into a position behind her back, he pulled her chest flush with his own, leering down into her face. “But, perhaps you’re merely awestruck. Such a lovely thing you are,” he purred, peering closer at the moonlight shining on her hair from the dingy windowpanes. “Are you so lost in the passion that is myself that you can’t bear to harm me?”           

            “Get the fuck over yourself,” she snarled, twisting her wrists. He must not have considered her to be strong, as she broke from him easily. His eyes widened in surprise as she left his grasp, throwing his arms away as she backed up. She felt a tickle in her mind as her dæmon darted upstairs, the peacock none the wider as it did not give chase. Taking the tickle as a cue to keep buying time, she sneered and broke the leg off of an upended table.

            “The only thing worse than your pickup lines,” she declared, lunging and shoving the splintered end of the leg at the flamboyant vampire’s chest, “is your _fashion sense!”_ She hoped for a lucky break, though she was sure that it was nigh on impossible. A dæmon was only as skilled as its host; if the peacock was fast, the vampire was just as much so, if not more. So it wasn’t as much a surprise as it was a jolt when the vampire grabbed the sharper end of the makeshift stake, crushing it in his fist.

            “What did you say?” the vampire snarled, eyes flashing with a deadly light as the lips curled up in mingled disgust and rage. “My sweet angel is becoming more of a bitter tart…” the vampire clicked his tongue and shook his head. “We can’t be having that, can we? It would be so bad for the ratings. Think of the _critique_ , love-dove!”

            “L-love-dove?” Seras repeated in confusion, having not heard that one before. Then her mind was focused on the reverse tug-of-war she was being forced to play as the stake began to bend, the vampire forcing it back towards her own heart instead of his. In a bid for freedom she swung her foot up, aiming for the flamboyant vampire’s (probably stuffed) bulge in his obscene feather pants. To her surprise he didn’t dodge, but instead caught her foot between his thighs and twisted hard. It pulled her off balance and he used the time to yank her up to his chest with an iron hold across her breasts, the stake resting just at the base of her throat.

            “I could kill you, bitter little tart,” he purred cruelly as he dug the tip of the makeshift stake into her flesh, drawing a bead of blood at the soft patch of skin where her neck began to turn into shoulder. “But, luckily for you I have a weakness for the star-crossed lovers plot. Perhaps I can charm you yet, to pull that angel back out of her icy shell?” he crooned, rubbing his cheek against hers and smearing some of the white makeup across her face. One palm squeezed her breast and he chuckled obscenely as she turned her head, face screwed in mingled revulsion and fury. _Where the hell are you?!_ she called to her dæmon.

            _Coming, coming!_ It answered quickly, but her thoughts were torn from it as the glittering vampire peacock spoke again.

            “I do wonder, though… do you _taste_ as sweet as you look?” he continued, oblivious to her disgust. “I think, just by your personality, that you would be a nice mix between _chocolat religieuse_ and a lemon tart. Mmm…” he murmured, licking his lips as his eyes honed on the drop of blood sliding slowly towards her collarbone. He never found how, however; the moment before his tongue touched the crimson liquid, he cried out in pain and jerked away, grabbing at his shoulder. Seras twisted in his grasp to see the peacock dæmon had been grabbed as well, but the shape holding it down was a lupine form much larger than her own dæmon’s slim she-wolf.

 _Couldn’t have timed that any better,_ she sighed in relief. She felt, more than saw her dæmon puff with pride as it slid back through the shadows to join her, soaking up her blood as her body healed the small wound. 

            _Of course, I always aim to please,_ it replied sarcastically. _But to be fair, I don’t think Alucard would have let the vampire taste your blood. Such a waste of such a fine delicacy, so rarely spilt,_ it drawled. _He’d rather be the only connoisseur of what you taste like._

 _Fat chance; he’s not ‘tasting me’ either. No one is,_ she huffed as she ran her fingers across her cheek, trying to smear off the white face paint. It didn’t work, and she frowned as she realized she’d have to wait until she got home to wash it away. She was distracted from this newfound irritation by Alucard finally deciding to show up to the party, standing in the threshold and watching the flamboyant vampire squirm as his dæmon held the peacock in a tight grip.

            “And just what did you think you were about to do?” Alucard said in his usual smug, devil-may-care tone. “Moreover, _what_ do you think that you are?” he continued, eyeing the vampire’s getup. “And you call _my_ clothes outrageous, Police Girl.” The vampire’s eyes kept flitting between this newcomer and his poor dæmon fluttering in the wolf’s maw, but to his credit he managed to draw himself to full height with a sneer.

            “I am perfection.” He snobbishly turned up his nose as he spoke. “And what I was doing was offering this feisty little _chatounette_ the chance to have her lifeblood sampled by perfection. She’s already assured me that it will taste divine by her behavior alone!” he cackled.

            “Perfection?” Alucard echoed with a hint of laughter. “I’ve never killed perfection before. This promises to be interesting.”

 


End file.
